


I'm at a loss, darling

by missmaddie



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Bane Chronicles - Sarah Rees Brennan & Cassandra Clare & Maureen Johnson
Genre: F/M, Sorry for the title, Warlocks, after tid, no one else ships it?, pre tmi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 23:15:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4324530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmaddie/pseuds/missmaddie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm and Catarina</p>
<p>"There had been a party and and a banner that said something like "your skinny love was making me sick". Malcolm didn't remember much of it, honestly"</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm at a loss, darling

**Author's Note:**

> My guess of what could have happened to Malcolm Fade. This hiatus is killing me. For the prompt "something with catarina and Malcolm"  
> Come suggest something on tumblr I'm runningcirclesaroundsuperman

Magnus wasn't the first to create a name. The only one to adopt a self chosen pseudonym, to cast away the identity given to you by someone who attempted to drown you in holy water or had left you on a church's door. 

Around the twentieth century, she had become Catarina Loss, through no fault of the newly christened Malcolm Fade.

Catarina grins as Malcolm pressed himself up against her. He kisses her cowlick and whispers prayers for good luck and love into her hair. 

There were benefits of having an immortal lover, especially one who was another Warlock. Perpetually clean dishes, for one.

Like Magnus, they had moved back to the city. She wasn't sure what it was. The bad coffee, the sense of entitlement or the stench of Jersey wafting downstream. It wasn't Peru, but it was home. 

It was rare that they both found work at the same time. Perhaps that was a sign. Looking back, she wonders if she missed a lot of warning signs. 

When you lived the way they did, one didn't have to believe in a higher power. It was there, uninfluenced and unimpressed by your belief or lack of it. But tragedy brings something out in you. 

She had been parading around the New York institute, updating the wards and memorizing all the snide comments made by the latest Whitelaw brat for dinner conversation when it happens.

It's funny. If you had asked her the day before, she would have sworn she'd have known. She would have felt it. It's funny, how even Warlocks can be so naive. 

Malcolm's skills had been purchased by a mundane company for something very routine. 

A demon summoning.

What is it, Ragnor wondered, as he pushed back his and Catarina's bright yellow sofa, with mundanes and demons? 

He didn't get it himself, but something had to be done if he wanted to keep him and his lady friend (he smiles to himself, feeling the rush that comes whenever he found himself thinking of her and letting it overtake him) supplied with bright yellow couches. (Lies. The couch had been a gift from Magnus. There had been a party and and a banner that said something like "your skinny love was making me sick". Malcolm didn't remember much of it, honestly)

The Mundanes had been vague, leaving out their purpose for summoning and had only given Malcolm The name of who they were summoning. Azazel.

He shivers and drops himself into their couch, waiting. Normally, he had standards and didn't suffer vague and late clients. But work had been slow lately and it was a studio apartment in New York. He could compromise his stanfards once.

When they do arrive, two bushy haired splotchy skinned men, the shorter stouter one Malcolm had spoken on the phone with breathing heavy. 

"Well," Malcolm greeted, false politeness dripping from his tone, "let's get this show on the road, yeah?"

The summoning is easier than normal, with mild power flickering and Malcolm hardly tripping over the Latin. 

Summoning really wasn't his thing. It was usually Magnus and Catarina who got the summoning jobs. Malcolm fancied himself a healer. 

The Pentagon glows as thick smog pours out of it. He looks over at the two mundies, expecting their skin to be pallid and contorted in some sort of horror. Hes disamayed to see them perfectly still and ...almost bored looking? 

Before he can say anything, Malcolm is interrupted. 

"Who are you, little Warlock, to call on Azazel, forger of Hell's weapons, a greater demon?" 

His voice echos and The two mundies keep glancing at each other. 

Malcolm steels himself. 

"I am Malcolm, warlock and current employee of," he gestures to his less than impressive company "these two men. Your deal Is with them" 

Malcolm is a lot of things, but not a fool. He knows better than to deal with demons. It's fathers that he has no experience with. 

"Do not shrug me off so easily, Warlock. What would your father say?" 

Malcolm stiffens, his blood cooling. What on earth was going on?

He turns to the two mundies who were watching Azazel with something akin to awe. 

He growls. "I hate demon worshipers! Get out! All of you!" He growls, turning to face the demon.

"Come on, get. Go on. Shoo."

Azazel laughs. It sounded like his mother crying. Malcolm winces.

"You poor little warlock. You think you summonded me? You opened a portal. I am a greater demon" 

Malcolm swallowed and put on a brave face. He had to take care of this - Catarina would be home soon. 

"Catarina? Another warlock? For all you know, she could be your sister." The demon giggled. It made Malcolm's skin crawl. 

"I wouldn't have assumed a demon to be on such morale high ground."

"Only the best for my son."

Demons lie. Demons lie. Liars. Demons were liars. 

Malcolm tried to calm himself down, but his chest aches as it will when one heard an unpleasant truth. 

"You're my father?" It didn't come out as sardonic as he'd have liked. 

The demon nods and and pulls his mouth back in a parody of a smile. 

"Why search me out? Why now?" 

Azazel's smile grew, revealing dark brown gums and sharp bright teeth. 

"Now," he said, "I'd like to make a deal" 

She finds him later, curled up in the corner, paler than normal and shaking, nearly catatonic. 

They don't break up so much as fade off. After all, how could they be Malcolm and Catarina when...When he was hardly Malcolm, even on his best day? 

His speech comes back fast and his magic is unchanged. His memories are spotty and he needs constant redirection. He leaves for High Warlock-ship and Magnus takes her to Peru.

She takes up medicine after, relishing In the smells of sterile gloves and familiar herbs.

She's Catarina and she has lost so much.


End file.
